You've Got To Give It to Me as Though You Want It Too
by Vita Fidens
Summary: Sequel to "Gave Me Your Heart of Rusty Nails, Now You Ask Why It Impales." Dean Ambrose refuses to take no for an answer. Backed into a corner, Liz Moore must decide to continue their never-ending war or to try a new approach. Rated M: Sex, language, violence.
1. Chapter 1

He was smoking a cigarette beside me, his gaze focused on the ceiling.

He'd refused to let me clean myself off – his semen was still coating my stomach. "I'm not done with you yet," he'd murmured gently in my ear when I went to stand, planning to simply walk into the shower. I seemed to take an inordinate amount of showers around these men.

Now he wrapped his arm around my shoulders, sighing contentedly.

"I knew you'd eventually come around, Lizzy."

Incredulous, I turned my head to face him. "'Come around' how?"

"Fucking me without the aid of booze."

I blinked a few times. "Yeah, all you had to do was threaten to rape a co-ed in front of me. That's certainly me coming around."

"You could have let me fuck her. She wanted it," he scoffed.

"Yeah, she wanted it up until you hit her," I replied, struggling away from him and sitting up. "What in the blue fuck is wrong with you, Ambrose?"

He puffed at his cigarette, merely staring at me. "You ask that as if you have time to hear the whole list, Elizabeth."

I shook my head, closing my eyes, as he pulled me back down to him. "Relax," he said, blowing smoke rings.

"It's funny you should say that," I said quietly. "You seem relaxed enough now that you came. Let me go take a shower and get some sleep."

He chuckled. "No, Lizzy. God, you're so impatient. Let me finish my smoke." He hurriedly puffed the last bits and stubbed it out quickly, turning back to me.

Wrapping his hand around my neck, he pulled my face to his and kissed me. I tried not to recoil at the taste of smoke and, thankfully, succeeded. He wasn't in quite as much of a mood as earlier, but that still would have managed to piss him off.

"Lay down," he said quietly.

I hesitated briefly, studying him with obvious suspicion. He raised his eyebrows, and that was all it took for me to comply. I needed to choose my battles wisely with him.

I lay flat on my back and Ambrose climbed on top of me. He kissed me teasingly, his tongue darting in and out of my mouth, holding himself a few inches above my face. Unexpectedly, he stopped and nuzzled my face with his nose. It was such a sweet gesture, normally romantic, in the middle of this interlude that was anything but sweet and romantic.

It chilled me to the core.

Ambrose slid down my body until his face was between my thighs. He grinned up at me for a moment before extending his tongue and gently licking my clit, never breaking eye contact. I shuddered at the first touch of his tongue, unable to help myself.

He laughed before beginning to really use his mouth. I closed my eyes, trying to get lost in the sensation and just get this over with – but all I could see was that poor girl getting slapped, tears and terror filling her eyes when she had that horrible realization that something bad was about to happen to her.

I was absolutely repulsed by him. There was simply no way around that fact. I found his actions disgusting, and the fact that he was currently so intimately positioned with me made me want to scald my skin off to try and scrub him away.

"Oh, Liz," he broke into my thoughts, sighing gently. "I know just what you need."

He got up onto his knees and, as if I weighed no more than a feather, flipped me onto my stomach. I wrinkled my nose in disgust as my still-wet stomach hit the sheet, smearing the essence of Ambrose all over.

He pulled my hips up and thrust into me roughly, a soft moan escaping his lips. "Maybe this is what _I_ need," he murmured, putting his hands on my hips and guiding me back and forth on his dick while he stayed still.

I closed my eyes against a sudden onslaught of tears. He was actually physically making me fuck him. Never mind the mental and emotional blackmail that put me in this position in the first place; now he wasn't even letting me be ambivalent – he was making me participate.

He moaned softly, moving me slowly. "God, Lizzy," he murmured, running his hand down my back. "There's just something so sweet about making love to you."

"This isn't making love, Ambrose," I replied, trying to keep my voice from wavering with my sick tears, "this is fucking. There is no love here."

My head was wrenched back, his hand wrapped in my hair. He laughed. The son-of-a-bitch actually laughed. "Oh? I'm glad you told me that. I can stop being so nice."

He shoved my head into the pillow in front of me, holding my head down roughly. He wrapped his other arm around my torso and reached down to stroke my clit, slamming his cock into me.

"This is more my style anyway," he panted. "Wait until I get you home later this week. So many things we'll do…all the fun we'll have together."

I tried to ignore the pleasure radiating out from his fingers and found that it was getting to the point where it was beyond avoidance.

"Shut up," I snapped, wanting to imagine anybody but him. His gravelly voice telling me about horrors yet to come was ruining my focus.

He pulled me up by my hair, pulling me into a vertical position so that we were both kneeling. He had pushed his hips back a bit to remain inside of me. "You don't give the orders here, Elizabeth," he snarled directly in my ear.

I closed my eyes while he gently pushed his dick deeper into me, still rubbing my clit. His hand fell away from my hair and rested across my chest.

"Your heart's racing," he murmured. "I think you're about to come for me. Are you?" He asked, stroking my clit with increased intensity.

"No," I snapped, trying to squirm away from his touch.

His grip around my chest tightened. "Yes, you are," he murmured insistently, his hand coming up to gently touch my face. "Come on, Lizzy. Just give me one good one."

I bit his hand instead.

"BITCH!" He yelled, yanking his hand away.

I pulled away from him and tried to hurriedly get out of the bed, but he caught my ankle. He wrenched it painfully, and I stopped short. I wouldn't scream. I wouldn't give him that.

He laughed, a hard edge underlying the sound. "You like to bite, Lizzy?" He pulled me back onto the bed, facedown. "I like to bite, too."


	2. Chapter 2

I was moving slowly the next morning.

My ankle ached and I was walking with a pronounced limp. I gritted my teeth and moved through the pain. It wasn't as bad as the bite on my shoulder, which was bright red and throbbing angrily.

The imprints of Ambrose's teeth had already started to scab over.

I finally was able to take my shower, and I tried my best to wash away the rest of last night. The feeling of Ambrose's teeth breaking my skin had brought very different reactions to the two of us – I'd cried out, feeling my blood fill his mouth, and he'd had an orgasm.

I shuddered away the memory of seeing him wipe his mouth casually with the back of his hand, wiping away the streaks of my blood that had begun to run down his chin.

I focused on the positives. The only two positives from last night, in fact – I'd prevented a girl from getting brutalized, and I hadn't had an orgasm when I was being violated – which I knew Ambrose was sorely disappointed about.

Other than those two victories, it was a definite mark in the loss column for Liz Moore.

"Keep it together," I muttered to myself. "This isn't about wins and losses. This about survival. You're still here. It's a victory."

I dressed as quickly as I could – but it still took me much longer than usual. I needed something to put on the bite to keep it from getting infected. Maybe I could text Rollins later and ask for his help? The thought made my stomach turn – I didn't want anyone to know what had happened here last night.

I walked out to an empty room. Ambrose had taken off before my shower, something I was relieved about. I made my way to the bed and lay back, my ankle throbbing at me in protest. I propped it up on several pillows, gritting my teeth and waiting for the pain to subside.

I heard the electronic beeps accompanying the hotel key card being accepted in the lock and struggled to a seated position. I refused to show weakness to that man.

I kept my eyes trained on the television. I could see Ambrose studying me quietly as he set a bag down on the bed.

"Coffee," he said, attempting to hand me a cup. I ignored him.

Sighing, he sat down beside me and stuck a finger in the collar of my shirt, pulling it away from my neck to peer down at the bite on my shoulder.

"Looks like it hurts," he said after a few moments.

"It's fine."

"Take your shirt off." He stood up and grabbed the bag on the opposite bed. I was more than a little concerned, but I was contractually obligated to obey.

I held my shirt over my breasts and stomach, wanting to expose the minimum amount of flesh to him. I heard him shuffling with things and after a few moments, a cold cream was being rubbed onto the bite.

I flinched away, but Ambrose used his other hand and gently pulled me back. "You're fine," he murmured quietly.

'No,' I thought, 'I'm not. I thought I was. I thought I could do this. This is too much for me. I can't handle Dean Ambrose. God help me, I cannot do this.'

"Things got a little out of hand last night, hm?" He asked, still lightly rubbing my shoulder. I didn't answer.

"We could still make this easy, Liz. Or do you want to see how far we'll go to destroy each other?"

I considered it for a few long moments. "What would you have me do, Ambrose?"

"Call me Dean," he replied, resting his head on my uninjured shoulder and wrapping his arms around me. "That's where we can start."


	3. Chapter 3

The car ride was particularly silent that morning.

I was attempting to ignore the constant ache in my ankle, which was present no matter how I sat, and the burning in my shoulder that told me whatever Ambrose had put on it was working. I was also attempting to ignore the thoughts swirling in my head until I could get somewhere more private to think over my conversation with Ambrose this morning.

I hadn't said yes. But I also hadn't outwardly refused his proposal.

The sad truth was that I was getting tired. I hated being constantly afraid of what new horrors awaited me each day. If I started spending time with Ambrose in the way he wanted it – connecting, on whatever fucked-up level he was able – instead of constantly being engaged in a battle of survival, those frightening moments might become further apart.

Or they might simply rush at me closer together.

There was really no way of knowing. Agreeing with him might make my present-day life infinitely better…or it might make it unbearably worse.

I shook my head to clear these thoughts and looked up to see Ambrose staring at me in the rearview mirror. His eyes quickly dropped back to the road, only to creep back up to meet mine again a few moments later.

If you looked at Ambrose – met him out somewhere, like that unfortunate girl had yesterday – he didn't necessarily seem insane. He didn't at all display that he might be off. Some people, when you see them, you simply know – it's something in the way they move; something in the way their eyes meet yours. Some instinct in you screams out that there is danger in this person, and you steer clear.

There was absolutely no doubt in my mind that he had issues. But was he a psychopath like I'd made him out to be? Was I approaching this all wrong?

Almost immediately, I dismissed that thought. Ambrose may not be a clinically-diagnosed psychopath, but he most certainly was dangerous and deranged, and I hadn't approached my situation with him in any way other than how I should have – namely, doing my best to survive without giving him much satisfaction and looking for a way to get the hell out.

I returned to staring out the window, attempting to think of other things but always circling back to our conversation this morning.

He'd been very gentle as he wrapped my ankle in an ace bandage, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and his hair hanging over his eyes. When he'd finished, he rested my ankle on his thigh and remained quiet for a few minutes before speaking.

'I can't take no for an answer, Lizzy,' he'd said. 'I can't accept that that is your final decision. I just can't.' He paused briefly.

'I thought I just wanted to hurt you. Then I thought I just wanted to fuck you. I've done both, and you're still in my head. You're still there, festering, taking over every sane and rational thought I've ever had. You're growing in me like some kind of disease. I can't keep going like this with you. I can't constantly wonder what will happen when this month is over. I need you. It's that simple. I need you beyond this stupid fucking month – and I think you need me, too.'

I had asked him, after a few long moments, just what it was he wanted me to do.

'Give me a chance,' he'd replied. 'Give me an honest-to-God chance. Treat me like you would any man who wanted to date you.'

'Forget our history?' I'd asked dryly, knowing that would be an impossibility. And yet…he had asked that of me.

And I was the stupid cow for sitting in this car and actually considering it.

Not because I thought I needed Ambrose. No, it was actually quite the opposite – I wanted to escape from him in one piece. Giving him this supposed redemption he was looking for, giving him the old college try before leaving, might in fact save my skin.

I was quite fond of my skin, and had a vested interest in saving it.

I rested my head against the glass, weary. I must have let out a small sigh – every head in the car turned to look at me briefly before returning to its previous position.

We were a fun bunch today.


	4. Chapter 4

Ambrose and I had barely shut the door leading into our hotel room – he'd chosen one with only one bed this time, I noticed with growing unease – when he turned to me and asked the question I'd been dreading.

"So? What have you decided, Lizzy?" He asked, planting his feet wide and crossing his arms over his chest. "I won't wait forever for an answer."

I set my bag down slowly, wanting so badly to delay this moment even further. But the time had come, and it was time to try something different.

"All right, Am-Dean," I replied, feeling fear creep onto me. "We can try this your way."

His lips twitched a few times before he finally simply smiled. In a few seconds, he had crossed the room. His hand came up to stroke my hair and wound up gripping a clump tightly, tugging. Wincing, I gently detangled him.

"What happens now?" I asked quietly.

He cleared his throat. He actually seemed nervous. "Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?"

I hesitated a moment. It wasn't like I had a choice. But I could appreciate his attempt at normalcy. "Yes," I replied. "I'd like that."

He bent down and kissed me, both hands holding the sides of my face.

"You're not going to regret this, Lizzy," he said as he pulled away.

Then, to my great surprise, he picked up his bag and headed towards the door.

"Where…where are you going?" I called after him, confused.

He turned and gave me a grin. "I want to make this as…ordinary…as possible. I'll come by and pick you up at seven. I'll stay with Seth and Roman until then." He paused, his fingers drumming on the doorframe. "I'll see you tonight."

"Yeah, I'll see you then," I replied.

The door shut behind him, and I was alone without the worry of his return hanging over my head for the first time in over a week.

It was a strange feeling. I didn't quite know what to do with myself.

My phone beeped at me a few minutes later. Rollins.

"Dean is elated…. Are you out of your fucking mind?" I read aloud. I had to laugh.

'Maybe,' I typed back. 'Couldn't keep going the way it was, Seth. Just couldn't do it. Can't even begin to explain what was happening.'

A long silence ensued. 'I'm really saddened to hear that,' the reply came in after a few minutes. I was slightly confused by what he was saying, but realized that I'd made a pretty awkward statement for him to formulate a reply to.

'No need to be. Things will work out.'

"I think," I muttered as I sent that gem.

'I hope so,' was the reply that I got back.

'Not at all comforting, Rollins,' I replied.

'I won't lie to you, Liz. He's a dangerous guy. He's a little…touched. And I've never seen him act this way. I've known him for a while now, and even I don't know what to expect when he's around you. Please…don't take him lightly.'

'Believe me, I'm not. I'm trying to mitigate my damage here. My other way wasn't working. This way might. I don't know what else to do.'

My phone went silent, and stayed that way for the rest of the day.


	5. Chapter 5

As the clock crept closer to seven, my stomach began to work its way into bigger and bigger knots.

I tried to stop their progress by doing mundane things – showering, doing my hair, getting dressed – but they refused to be ignored and refused to retreat.

Finally, after about fifteen minutes of pacing, there was a knock on my door. I glanced at the clock – ten of seven. I guess I knew who this was.

I opened the door, and Ambrose's eyes nearly fell out of his head.

"I should go change," I said immediately.

"Don't you dare," he replied, tearing his eyes away from my cleavage long enough to meet my eyes.

I was immediately regretting the choice of a dress, even if it was one of my more casual ones. I'd had no idea what Ambrose had planned for dinner and didn't want to be underdressed wherever we went.

I quickly gauged his attire – jeans, without holes in them for once, and a button-up. He'd gone all-out for me. So I hadn't been too far off the mark.

He stood staring at me for another thirty seconds before he shook himself out of it. "You are gorgeous," he said simply.

"Thanks," I replied, taken aback. "I wasn't sure…."

He shook his head, cutting me off. "That is perfect. I might ask you to wear it every day."

"It would get old after a bit."

He shook his head again, pursing his lips. "No, I don't think it would." His eyes met mine again, and he smiled genuinely at me, small dimples appearing in his cheeks. I was amazed to feel my heart do a small stutter-step in my chest. When he wasn't being predatory or creepy, he wasn't a bad-looking guy.

No. I needed to be smart about this. I couldn't start thinking about him as if he were Joe Blow I met in a Starbucks in my neighborhood. This was _Dean Ambrose_. And the Dean Ambrose I knew _was _predatory, and he _was_ a creep. As much as he might want me to forget that, I needed to always keep it in the back of my mind.

"So are we going to go somewhere or are you going to stand there and stare at me all night?" I asked teasingly.

He pursed his lips. "Is standing here staring at you all night a feasible option?" I rolled my eyes and lightly punched his arm. "All right, all right." He offered me his arm and I took it, my hand settling comfortably in the crook of his elbow.

He hailed a cab and we arrived at a small restaurant about ten minutes later. Walking in, I was surprised to see that it was quiet and cozy – not what I had pictured from Ambrose at all.

"Did I do all right?" He asked as we sat down.

I smiled in what I hoped was an encouraging way. "Yes, of course. This place seems really nice."

He glanced down at his hands. "I want everything to be perfect for you."

I could feel my brow furrow. "Why, Dean?"

"Because I'm not, so something should be."

We were interrupted by the waiter taking our drink order – a beer for him, and a glass of wine for me.

"Nobody's perfect, you know," I returned to that line of thought after he'd left.

"I know," he replied, still staring at his hands. "But I'm less perfect than most."

"This isn't the Dean I've come to know and…well…know," I teased. "Cheer up, Charlie. It's you and me, out on a date. The imperfect Dean Ambrose is out on a date with the imperfect Liz Moore. It's going to be a good night."

His eyes finally met mine. "You really think so?"

I nodded. "Yes, I do," I lied. "You wanted a clean slate. It's here. So let's stop living in the past and start having the awkward first date I know we're both capable of."

He laughed. "All right. So, Liz, what do you do for a living?"

I grinned. "Well, Dean, I used to order sweaty, muscle-bound men to fight each other on live television for the amusement of a varied audience. Sadly, I lost that job when my team lost a fight I'd bet on them winning. Now I just follow around this one big, muscled dude and…I don't know, carry his bags or something. Whatever he wants."

We were both laughing when the waiter brought back our drinks, and we barely managed to keep it together long enough to order our dinners.

"So, what do you do?" I asked, taking a sip of my wine.

"Oh me?" He asked, reaching for his beer. "I'm an investment banker."

I nearly choked on my wine. I managed to swallow it all right, still laughing at the idea of Ambrose in a suit and tie, dealing with difficult clients without punching them. After a few moments, I felt Dean's hand cover mine on the table.

I glanced up at him, still smiling, and was amazed to see how happy he looked. His eyes were dancing in the flickering light from the candle, and my heart did that funny stutter-step once again.

"Thank you for saying yes," he said, lacing his fingers in mine.

I managed a small smile and nodded, a lump forming in my throat. Dear God, was this really Ambrose? This couldn't be right.

"You know all about me," I finally said, gently pulling my hand away. "Tell me a little bit about you."

"Investment banker me or regular me?" He asked dryly.

"Regular you."

He shrugged. "It's not a happy story."

"That's ok by me if it's ok by you. If you don't want to tell it, though, I get it."

He took a long drink before clasping his hands together on the table and regarding me seriously. "I grew up in a pretty rough part of Cincinnati. It was just me and my mom; I didn't really know who my dad was until I was a teenager. Mom had a string of boyfriends in and out of the house, but none of them ever really stuck around. She was an alcoholic and a crack addict, so she wasn't exactly the best parent." I could hear his voice creeping towards anger. "I had to learn how to take care of myself really fucking quickly. I did the best I could, given the circumstances."

He was quiet for a few minutes, and I could see his face hardening, his tongue running over his teeth. Bad sign. Time for a bit of redirection. "How did you get into wrestling?"

A brief smile lit his face. "I had to fight every day. There was no escaping from it. Then, one day, at a friend's place I caught some of the old ECW. It was…an awakening for me. I liked the violence – what teenage boy wouldn't – but I really liked how tough these guys were. How they survived these crazy odds. I knew then that I wanted to do what they did. I knew I was tough enough. I knew I was strong and smart enough."

"And here you are," I said, smiling. "You made it."

He nodded. "I did. Thankfully. I don't know where I'd be if I wasn't here – probably dead or in jail by now. I didn't have too many other options." He paused. "You, though…you had plenty of other options. How did you end up here?"

I shrugged. "I went to college for accounting because I was good at it. After I graduated, I saw that WWE Corporate was hiring and I was a lifetime fan, so I thought it'd be cool to go work for them, even in a small capacity. Somehow, one day, I worked up the courage to tell Stephanie McMahon an idea I'd had for Raw. The rest…is history, I suppose."

"Did you enjoy being the GM?"

I smiled. "I loved it," I answered. "Some of it was irritating, sure. But for the most part…it was everything I never knew I wanted."

"What are you going to do when this –" Ambrose gestured around him " – is all over?"

"I don't know," I lied. "Probably head back to Stamford and start looking for another job somewhere."

He was quiet for a moment. "Stay with me," he said, a note of pleading in his voice.

I blinked a few times, surprised. "Let's not put the cart before the horse, eh? It's our first date, after all."

That awkward exchange was, blessedly, interrupted by our meals arriving.


	6. Chapter 6

Our conversational flow had returned sometime in the middle of our meal, although we talked of things that were much less personal.

Finally, we were on our way out the door and Ambrose was hailing a cab to take us back to our hotel. He very lightly held my hand the whole ride back, his fingers intertwined with mine and his thumb absently rubbing over the back of my hand. I was surprised to find that I wasn't disgusted by this intimacy. Maybe this first date idea hadn't been such a terrible one, after all.

He wrapped his arm tightly around my waist as he walked me to my room. We reached my door and, key in hand, I hesitated a moment. Finally, disbelieving that I was actually going to do this, I turned and lightly kissed his mouth.

"Thanks for a great night, Dean," I said sincerely.

He grinned. "Thank you, Liz." He bent and kissed me, his hands gently touching my shoulders. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

I laughed, turning away from him and opening the door. "It's a first date, Ambrose. What kind of girl do you take me for?" I figured that was as good a parting line as any, and I walked into my room, letting the door fall shut behind me.

…Except that it didn't.

I turned and saw Ambrose slip into my room, pausing to put the do-not-disturb sign out before shutting the door and clicking the latch.

"Dean? What are you doing?" I asked, feeling more confused than anything else.

"We had a great night, Lizzy," he said, coming towards me slowly. "A better night than I expected us to have, honestly. But it can be even better." He stopped a few feet in front of me. "You are irresistible in that dress," he said slowly.

The realization dawned on me all too late.

"Dean," I said, trying to keep calm, "I really don't want to do this with you tonight. Please don't ruin the one nice memory I have of you."

"Ruin?" He asked, raising his eyebrow. "So you think that if we make love it will ruin your evening?"

"I didn't say that," I replied hastily.

"Oh yes you did. You just said you didn't want to ruin your one nice memory of me. Do you think I'm deaf?"

"No," I said tiredly, rubbing my eyes. "No, Dean, you are not deaf."

"So then you just think I'm stupid."

"No!"

He grabbed my arms and pulled me towards him. "Then what is it, Lizzy?" He shook me. "What, exactly, are you trying to say?"

My shoulders dropped in defeat. "I'm trying to say that for the first time tonight, I felt like I could eventually know you and care about you at some point in the future. I feel like sleeping with you would cheapen that depth of emotion."

"Or enhance it," he countered. "Let me show you that I can be just as normal and gentle as I was tonight." He bent and kissed me, his fingers digging into my arms.

"You're hurting me," I said quietly as he pulled away.

He stepped away from me, shaking his head. After a few seconds, he began punching himself and pacing back and forth angrily.

"I had you, didn't I, Lizzy?" He asked through clenched teeth. "I fucking had you, and I just went and fucked it up again. Do you see? It's just who I am. I fuck things up time and time again."

"Dean," I said as gently as possible, "it's ok. It's just one mistake in an otherwise perfect night." I wanted to calm him down and get him the hell out of here. "It won't stop us from moving forward."

"But the next one will," he said, still pacing. "Or maybe the one after that. At some point, you'll decide that a perfect woman like you can't be bothered with a fuck-up like me. And where does that leave me, Lizzy? WHERE DOES THAT LEAVE ME?" He screamed, pausing in his movement with his fists balled tightly by his sides.

"Keep your voice down," I replied as he resumed his eerie back-and-forth pacing. "There's absolutely no need to get wound up about this."

"I need you to love me," he said as if he hadn't heard me. "I need you to love me so that you won't leave." He came back to me and put his hands on my shoulders. "You can't leave me."

"Dean," I said gently, removing his hands from me. "You need some serious help."

He stepped closer to me. "Then help me, Lizzy." His hands were on my face, and he tried kissing me again even as I pulled away.

"I am so not qualified for that."

"Yes, you are. Just tell me you love me, and I'll be fine." His hand wrapped around my throat and he shoved me into the wall. "Tell me you love me and that we'll be together forever." He began to squeeze. "SAY IT!" He screamed in my face.

Black flowers bloomed across my vision. It was getting more and more difficult to draw in the few rattling breaths I could handle.

"Dean," I croaked. "Please."

"Say it," he growled, staring into my eyes.

I tried to swallow and found that I couldn't. "Love…you…"I managed to gasp. His hand immediately released and I fell to the floor, coughing and sputtering. Stars swam in front of my eyes as precious oxygen refilled my lungs.

After a few minutes, Ambrose was sitting on the floor with me. "I knew you did," he whispered, pulling me into his arms. "I knew you did, Lizzy."


	7. Chapter 7

After Ambrose was asleep, I snuck into the bathroom with my cell phone. I used the light from the screen to survey my neck, which had a few large handprint-shaped bruises around it. It hurt to swallow. It hurt to breathe.

Wiping the few tears I had left from my eyes, I steeled myself and composed a text message. Seth would get it when he woke up.

'You were right to warn me. This just became infinitely worse. I don't know what to do anymore.' I took as deep a breath as I was able and added the last line, the first time I had admitted this to another person – 'I am scared.'


	8. Sequel

Thanks again for reading, favoriting, PMing, reviewing (I seriously love everyone's reviews; it keeps me cranking out the next bits faster!), following, and all of the awesome stuff you guys do to let me know you're enjoying what I'm doing to poor Liz Moore.

The next installment has been posted under the title "I Wish She'd Stay Mine." It is NOT what it seems to be, so please don't panic - it's a transition into something new. I really hope that you enjoy!


End file.
